


There's a Time and a Place (And This is Both)

by Nopride4531



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Prompt Fill, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 02:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: Arthur, Bill, and John + a job gone wrong.Written for Whumptober 2019. Prompt: "Shaky Hands"





	There's a Time and a Place (And This is Both)

They carried him in through the door, Arthur and Bill both. Neither one of them acknowledged the obvious, how similar it was to that time in Colter, when they'd carried Davey into that ramshackle shack. Neither one of them wanted to think about what it meant. Though, honestly, Arthur knew well enough.

It was raining outside. That was good: maybe it would wash away their tracks. The law wouldn't follow them. Not in a storm like this.

John made a noise as Arthur and Bill set him down on a table. There wasn't a bed in the old cabin--not even a frame. It would have to do for now. Until the storm broke, they weren't going anywhere. 

"Get a fire lit," Arthur snapped at Bill, who just stood there, staring. 

Bill jumped to attention with a "right" and went about doing as he was told. Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes. Now wasn't the time for annoyance; that could wait. He peeled back the fabric of John's shirt, matted with blood. John hissed and tried to flinch away, but with Arthur's hand on his shoulder and the amount of blood loss, he didn't get very far. 

"Easy, cowboy," Arthur said, trying to get a good look at the wounds. It was too dark in the cabin; Bill hadn't lit the fire yet, and he couldn't see through all the blood, either. "Easy."

There were three wounds, as far as he knew. Three quick gunshots, fired by some hero trying to stop the robbery, and John had collapsed. All of them bled profusely. Arthur felt his heart sink into his stomach. He forced himself to ignore it.

"Is it real bad?" Bill sounded so uncertain, Arthur wanted to hit him.

John looked up at Arthur expectantly, like his word was the final sentence. Arthur didn't--couldn't--meet his eyes and instead whirled on Bill.

"Didn't I tell you to get that fire lit?"

Bill watched him, understanding what that meant. He sighed, blinking rapidly, and went back to work. "The wood's all wet."

Arthur cursed. He dug through his satchel for bandages, shoving aside all the herbs he'd collected for Hosea. Finally, he came up with a cluster of cloth that wouldn't do much of anything, honestly. He cursed again, quieter this time... hopefully quiet enough that John wouldn't hear.

He folded the bandages over on themselves, then pressed them to John's stomach. John cried out, curling away as much as the table would allow. Arthur shook his head and gritted his teeth, pressing as hard as he dared. He needed to stop the bleeding. John wouldn't last much longer at this rate. 

"Arthur."

Arthur ignored Bill's voice, redoubling his efforts and tying the bandages in place. John's struggles grew weaker by the second. Arthur tried not to think about what that meant.

"Arthur," Bill said again. "Arthur, I can't get the fire lit."

Arthur whipped his head around so fast, the muscles in his neck complained. "Can't even do that?" He barked. "Then make yourself useful for once and go get a damn _doctor."_

There was so much venom in his tone, it even made Bill take a step back. Arthur glared at him, daring him to say something in protest. Thankfully, Bill knew when to fold, and he grabbed his rifle from where he'd set it against the doorway. 

"I'll be back soon," he said.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but another look from Arthur silenced him, and he left without a word. Arthur turned back to John. He was just barely awake, probably not all that lucid, either, but it was better than nothing. His breathing sounded off, labored and shaky. Arthur winced and gently pushed his hair back.

"Always gotta be you, doesn't it?" He murmured without any real bite. "Gettin' yourself into trouble."

John huffed out a weak laugh. "Yeah... and it's always gotta be you... pullin' me out of it."

Arthur smiled, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes. Peeling back the bandages, he did his best not to make a face when he saw the damage. The bleeding had barely slowed. Not enough to make a difference, for that matter. He sighed and folded the cloth back into place.

"It's bad, ain't it?" John whispered. And, when Arthur didn't immediately reply, he pressed: "Ain't it?"

Arthur wanted to tell him otherwise, wanted to say it was just a scratch, no worse than the wolves all those months ago. But the time for lies, he realized, had long since passed. And besides: it wouldn't do John any good to hear anything but the truth. 

"It ain't great," Arthur said, unable to be completely honest. "But hang in there, cowboy. Bill's gone to get a doctor and--"

"Your hands are shaking." 

Arthur blinked, then glanced downward. John was right. His hands _were_ shaking, trembling uncontrollably, for that matter. He gripped them together in an attempt to stop it. And it worked... for the time being.

"...It's that bad, ain't it, Arthur?"

For a moment, Arthur didn't say anything. He just listened to the roar of the wind outside, the sharp banging of the rain against the roof, the labored wheezes of John's breathing, somehow louder than anything. He inhaled shakily, then exhaled even worse.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's that bad."

John, to give him credit, didn't flinch or cry or anything. He just nodded and stared up at the ceiling. "You remember... that time I fell off the bridge?" 

Arthur, for that matter, didn't remember John falling off of any bridge. Ever. But he didn't say as much. "Yeah." He reached out and stroked John's matted hair, trying to ignore the shaking in his hand again.

"Posse had caught up with us," John was saying, "and one of them pushed me over the railing. Dutch and Hosea took care of them, but you..." He wheezed out a laugh. "You jumped right into the river after me."

Ah, and now Arthur was remembering. That had been years ago, maybe right after they'd found John, saved him from swinging. Shaking his head, Arthur kept up the soothing motion of his fingers through John's hair. He didn't want to walk down memory lane. Not yet.

"Save your breath, Marston," he said, but John ignored him, as usual.

"Thought I was gonna die that day," he murmured, rolling right over Arthur. "Thought I was gonna die a lotta days... but you always got me out of it."

Arthur's eyes burned. "Always."

He didn't know why he was agreeing, but it seemed the right thing to do. John looked over at him, as if he was surprised by it too. Arthur blinked a few times, then settled for shaking his head.

"You're gonna be fine."

And there was the lie again. The time for honesty was over... but exactly who Arthur was trying to convince, he didn't know. 

"You really think that?" John sounded tired, even more so than just a few seconds ago. It made Arthur's hands shake even more.

"Sure," he said, unable to think of anything else.

John laughed again, but this time, it quickly dissolved into sputtering gasps for air. Arthur immediately stopped stroking his hair to grip his face. "John?"

Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, blood that Arthur hurriedly wiped away--as if that would freeze everything in its tracks. 

"John," he said again, a little desperately this time. "Marston-- hey..."

But John was far beyond listening, far beyond anything at all. His breath came in sporadic gasps, then stopped altogether. Save for the rain and wind outside, the room went silent. 

"I got a Doctor!" Bill shouted as he all but kicked the door in. "Arthur I--"

He broke off immediately.

And somehow, Arthur knew his eyes had zeroed in on his shaking hands. 


End file.
